Legwork
by friendlyfaithplate
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is enlisted by his brother, Mycroft Holmes, to investigate the cryptic and amicable Nancy Drew, only to find himself wrapped up in a case much bigger than he ever anticipated. Nancy Drew/BBC Sherlock crossover. Rated T for now, will upscale later. Eventual Nancy/Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi! I don't own any of the things in this, specifically the characters or the products mentioned. Thank you for reading, please review! :)**

A loud bang from the living room startled Dr. John Watson, awakening him from his deep slumber. His first instinct was to hop out, reach into his bedside table, and pull out a loaded handgun, thanks largely to his strong military background as an army doctor. John quickly came to his senses, and began to roll his eyes as he heard a sharp moan emit from the living room. He slid his gun back into the drawer carefully, and traversed his way down the stairs.

When he entered the room, his flatmate and good friend, Sherlock Holmes, was slumped over in his loveseat, glaring at the Victorian printed wall. Sherlock's eyes slowly drifted towards John, sniffing and wrinkling his nose.

"You need to bathe," He scoffed, tucking his legs underneath him as he set his own gun on the coffee table.

"And you need to quit shooting the bloody walls!" John cried. He quickly moved over to Holmes and snatched up the gun in his hands, unloading it and pocketing the clip. Groaning, Sherlock lulled his head to the side and stared intently at the wall.

"If you're so damn bored, go harass Lestrade-"

"Already done."

"Your brother?"

A sigh. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and smirked, shifting his eyes from the bullet holes he had created in the wall towards John. They held the glance for a few seconds, until Sherlock shook his head.

"No, he's busy right now. It's-"

The iPhone that was laid on the arm of the chair rang, drawing Sherlock out of his thought process. The caller ID read 'Mycroft', causing a dragging sigh from Sherlock. He lifted the phone and slid his thumb across, pressing it against the side of his face.

"What? I thought it was elections or what have you. Wh- Okay? But why a- okay, yes, fine. Uh-huh. Right. But can't you just expla-" Sherlock grunted and stared at the phone for a moment, then looked back up at John. "He hung up."

"What did he want?" John inquired, striding towards his recliner and plopping down.

"Said he'd tell me later. He's got a car on the way, approximated about five minutes. Go get dressed."

John leaped up from his chair and dashed up the stairs, mumbling words of disapproval.

"And spray some cologne on yourself. You don't want to smell putrid around Anthea, do you?"

* * *

The pair's arrival at the Diogenes Club was timely as the two made their way through the door of Mycroft's office. The man was sat at his big, oak desk, accompanied by stacks of folders and an open laptop.

"Afternoon."

John smiled in response, sitting himself down in one of the two chairs that were seated across from Mycroft. Sherlock undid his jacket's single button and sat himself next to John, his back straight.

"Make it quick."

"Oh, please… As if you were doing anything other than shooting walls!" Mycroft quipped.

John snickered, covering his mouth lightly with his index finger. Sherlock shot a glare over at his friend and tapped his foot impatiently.

"Well, brother," Mycroft said with a snide look. "Seeing how, as aforementioned, it is elections season so I'm quite busy, I'm sure you're aware. There's a young, American woman who claims to be an 'amateur detective' which we've been meaning to look into. I was hoping you could help."

"Why me?" Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow. Mycroft sighed and reached for two of the folders and sliding them across to the men. Sherlock and John both grabbed one and looked at the contents, both duplicates of the other. Candid photos of a titian-haired woman were included; photos of her seemingly in a hurry, assisting people, and some security camera shots of her sneaking around what appeared to be private property. "What's her name?"

"Nancy Drew."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side and flipped through the pictures another time, his head rambling and deducing the young woman in seconds time.

_Low to mid-twenties, medium hair that's never been dyed, little makeup, nails kept attractive but not manicured, large purse alongside and kept close to body; suggests importance, few inches above average height, dresses practical but 'fashionably' in newer-appearing clothing, exudes friendliness, extrovert, in shape, right-handed, ink smudges on hands, scars on arm, appear to be from foliage and falling from heights._

"Right, why are we having to look at this girl?" John Watson asked. Mycroft's office began to feel tight and caged in as Sherlock's boredom began to edge back into his mind.

"She's been connected to a few prevalent international cases concerning criminals and spies and the like…" Mycroft leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. "I've been asked by the FBI to look into her as well, and seeing how she's in London for the summer, I figured you would be more than willing to help."

Sherlock scoffed and stood up, buttoning up his suit jacket and gesturing towards the door with his head. "Come along, John. We don't have time for this."

"She's a lot like you, actually. A consulting detective, or whatever it is that you call yourself."

Sherlock paused and looked behind his shoulder, curtly rolling his eyes. "Is she, now?"

"Well, she's not a consulting one per say, but she's more official than you are. Just finished up a degree in criminal psychology at a university near her hometown of River Heights. Brother, please. This case is very important right now and this is me prioritizing it."

The tall man gave his older brother an exhausted look and nodded his head, walking back over to the end of the desk and scooping up the file, waving it in the air.

"I'll see what I can do. Text me."

He didn't speak for the rest of the car ride back to 221b Baker Street, leaving John to his quiet murmurings to himself and impatient foot tapping. He finally looked over at his friend, finding the man fervently looking at his phone.

"What made you say yes?" John inquired, his body shifting so he could see what Sherlock was doing. _Facebook?_ John wondered, laughing to himself.

"Not sure, just felt right. She's going to be staying at the hotel on Gloucester, according to her 'timeline'," he said with a heavy dose of jeer. "Would you like to know her favorite color as well?"

John groaned. "No, Sherlock. I'd rather not."

He shrugged in response. As the two pulled up to 221b Baker Street, they noticed a trio of young ladies stride by and into the next door café. Sherlock's jaw locked as he recognized the hair on the girl leading the way.

"John. It's her."

The pair was out the taxi door in a flash, with John throwing a wad of pounds at the driver. They waltzed in behind the girls and inconspicuously took a booth next to them, Sherlock sitting directly behind Nancy Drew. His eyebrows furrowed at the sound of chatting women.

"I love it here," the brunette girl that sat across from Nancy piped. "It's so beautiful. The architecture is outstanding!"

"Not to mention the boys." The other blonde one whispered, voice dropped low enough so only her friends, as well as an overhearing Sherlock, could listen. "Especially that one across in the next booth with the weird trench-coat dude." He locked his jaw and stared flatly at John as his flatmate ordered a round of coffee for the two of them.

"Are you going to eat?" John asked, switching his glance from the waitress to Sherlock. He shook his head stiffly. "Right. Well, I'm getting something."

The gentle alarm of a phone going off behind him caused a sigh out of the redhead. Sherlock rotated his head to the side slightly to pretend as if he were watching the television, but instead was peering at her phone in the corner of his eye.

_Expensive smart-phone, keeps it next to her so it shows some sort of importance. Lack of fingerprints and oil from skin suggests she rarely texts. This text would be out of the ordinary._

"It's Ned again." The girl moaned. The sound of her phone's keyboard clicking echoed against the walls of the booth.

"What's he saying?" The brunette girl asked.

"Just whining about how he's sorry that he broke up with me and that he completely regrets it and that he will put up with me being away or something."

"Don't listen to it," The blonde one scoffed. "He's done this so many times. You don't need that kind of treatment, Nance."

Sherlock blew hot air out of his nose, rolling his eyes dramatically. A clatter of a plate hitting the table next to him drew his attention to John, who was shoving a mound of potatoes into his mouth.

"Excuse me, sir, do you have an issue?" The blonde one squeaked. He slowly turned his head to face all three and gave a sarcastic smile.

"No, not at all, love." He said, flashing a bit of teeth and lifting his arm to rest it upon the top of the booth divider.

Nancy Drew leaned back a bit and raised her eyebrows, a scoff forming on her face.

"Did you really just call her 'love'?"

"It's a term of endearment." He said, a baffled look beginning to form on his face. _So she's a fighter? Interesting._

"I don't care what it is, the way you said it was demeaning. Now, we would like to enjoy ourselves on our vacation and I would appreciate it if you would turn back around and enjoy your coffee." She said, her voice confident and strong. He chortled and shook his head, turning back to face a perplexed John.

"Whatever you want, Nancy Drew."

A series of gasps and mutters of 'what' came from behind him. He sneered a bit at his own cleverness.

_Oh, this will be a fun one._


	2. Chapter 2

_Why aren't you answering your mobile? – Mycroft Holmes_

_Busy. Found her. – SH_

_That quickly? Where at? – Mycroft Holmes_

_Maybe if you watched the CCTV feed you'd find out. We're at Speedy's. – SH_

_Did you say anything to her? – Mycroft Holmes_

_I said her name. They approached me first. We left just a bit ago. She'll be back for me, kept bugging me there but I didn't respond. – SH_

The man tossed his phone onto the desk as he dragged a chair from the kitchen table and placed it in between the two loveseats in the living room. Sherlock then swooped his violin up into his left hand, swishing his bow through the air without a care in the world. He was expecting the titian-haired young woman in approximately two and a half minutes.

_She will tell her two friends that she's going to pay for the meal and to meet up with her later, as she was going to find out who I was. She'll approach that waitress that served John and ask, 'who was that strange gentleman?' or something of the sort. The waitress will tell her we live just next door in flat B and she'll approach 221 and ring the bell. The question is, now, do I answer or ignore her?_

Sherlock smirked. He knew exactly what he was going to do. If he could invite a malicious, cold-hearted mastermind criminal into his flat, surely he could allow a harmless girl in. John did it all the time, anyway, right? He ran his bow across the strings, rocking his wrist from side to side as he performed a major scale, staring out the window as he awaited the door bell.

He played for a while longer when he heard the ring. A cooing Mrs. Hudson answered the door before Sherlock could even put his violin down, huffing loudly to himself as he heard the footsteps up the stairs.

"Who's that?" John asked. The stout man had been sitting in his chair the entire time without Sherlock even having a hint of realization. The door creaked open and a lean figure casted a shadow against the wall.

"Exactly who you think it is. Hello, Miss Drew."

"Who are you?" The voice demanded as Sherlock spun on his heels. John turned in his chair, his eyes catching those of the slim detective, her arms crossed in front of herself loosely with her hip dipped down and an expression on her face that yelled strength. He could feel Sherlock's sudden uneasiness. His lanky friend became stiff as he laid his violin on their cluttered desk, keeping eye contact with the titian-haired girl.

"You're perfectly aware of my identity," He said indignantly, furrowing his brows at her. "Just as I'm perfectly aware of yours."

The girl uncrossed her arms and placed them on her hips, her left hand having a slight twitch to it. _Dominant behavior, but clearly anxious and nervous. _

The two stared at each other for a good minute, until Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh and gestured her towards the chair he had placed for her earlier. She plopped herself down as she smoothed her dress down and crossed her legs, bobbing her foot up and down. He plopped himself down and slouched back into his chair. "You first." Nancy smiled sarcastically.

"Fuck's sake," Sherlock muttered. "Consulting detective, only one in the world, typically work with the police force, et cetera. This is my blogger, this is my flat, and I died last year. It appears to be your turn." He mocked.

The girl peered at him. "No? Alright. You're Nancy Drew," Sherlock was interrupted by a sharp moan from John as he cradled his forehead with his left hand, shaking slowly and whispering 'not again' to himself. "You're from River Heights, clearly American; you have been to London before previously, nervous twitch in your left hand, got only about four hours of sleep last night, you're staying in a hotel in Gloucester. Your favorite color is lilac and you love baking, yet you also love the outdoors and getting your hands dirty. You play the piano, probably due to lessons being forced upon you when you were a child. Y–"

"Is this some kind of joke?" Nancy scoffed. "I don't need you to impress me. I just want to know how you knew my name. Who told you?"

Sherlock set his jaw and sat up straight. "What would give you the impression that someone would tell me?"

"Why would you stiffen your body as soon as I asked you that question? Stop being obvious, just tell me, please. Maybe I can help you somehow."

He laughed heartily, standing up and making his way back to his violin. "You, help me? How would you help me?"

"You're avoiding my first question. Whoever told you about me wants me investigated or taken in for some reason. If you're a 'consulting detective' that works with Scotland Yard, then clearly it isn't me being arrested. Or maybe you aren't working with Scotland Yard. Holmes was your last name, correct? Right, I remember hearing about you, 'the man who faked his own death'. We talked about it over the dinner table."

The violin was perched upon Sherlock shoulder as he turned around to watch the girl. She looked as if she had won the battle, caught the canary. He wrinkled his nose. John muffled a chuckle as he sat deeper into his chair, enjoying the banter between the two. It wasn't often he got to see Sherlock's wits matched.

"Well, obviously you know. Now that you have your answer, please escort yourself out of our flat, or I may have John do it for you." He smiled mockingly, spinning around and beginning to shriek out-of-tune notes from his violin. Nancy groaned and stood up, lifting a corner of her lip into a smile at John. The man reflected her movements and leaped to the door, opening it for her.

"You were right," He said as he closed the door behind him. "He was basically put on to watch you from his brother, who's big in the government. I'm on your side with this. His brother is kind of a prat." John sighed, walking down the stairs with her. Nancy laughed and put her hands into the pockets of her cardigan, shaking her head.

"They're always after me for some reason. I'm not quite sure why, maybe it's my personal work." She laughed again and looked at John. "It's so strange how it's exploded so quickly. I used to just help friends and family, but it's expanded so much now. Like, I've been to _Egypt_. It's insane. Now the British government wants to investigate me. Do you have any idea why they even want to?"

John closed his eyes briefly. "Something about spies and international cases. FBI has been involved too, apparently."

"I can't imagine why. The only time I've honestly been mixed up with spies was when I was in Italy…" Nancy stopped at the door and smiled at John.

"Well, I mean…" John laughed. "Italy is… you know, not America? The fact that you've just been playing police is probably pissing them off."

The girl nodded and put her hand on the doorknob, rolling it in her hand. "I'd love to meet up with you guys again, maybe he'll be in a better mood?"

John rolled his eyes. "The drama queen is never in a better mood, but he may be more reliant if I talk to him about it. Uh, how would you like to contact each other?"

Nancy shoved the door open and trotted down the stairs, waving her hand in his direction.

"I left my phone number on a slip of paper, it's on the chair. Bye, John!"

And she was gone, power-walking down the street to her hotel. John shook his head as he closed the door and began to traverse the stairs again. A set of feet next to him moved.

"Who was that young lady? One of yours?" Mrs. Hudson prodded, giving a cheeky wink. John snorted.

"No, not a girlfriend, but she's going to give Sherlock one hell of a breakthrough."

"God knows he needs it." The elderly woman sighed.

* * *

**Sorry about that brief hiatus and how short this damn chapter is! Finished school and I've been working on another fic (sorta) and other miniscule projects. I would never forget about this story, though. Intense writers block also doesn't really aid in my productivity…**


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